


Actual Disney Prince Darren Criss

by dizzy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:56:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthday fic for tresbellemichelle. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Actual Disney Prince Darren Criss

  
** The Shoe Thing **   
  
“Chris!”    
  
Chris stops still on the steps of his trailer, and still on the doorknob where he’d just shut it. A sense of dread settles over him. He’d been so close to escaping the lot and he’s pretty sure he will actually collapse if this is one of Zach’s assistants running after him to ‘just go through it once more time.’    
  
But it’s not - it’s Darren, hurtling toward him. Chris is actually convinced for two seconds that Darren will crash into him but he comes to a stumbling halt, red-faced and a little sweaty in an entirely distracting way that Chris will probably (definitely) revisit later with some guaranteed privacy. “What on earth are you doing?” He asks.    
  
Darren digs through the messenger bag in his hand and holds up a pair of sneakers. “You left these. And I thought you might... you know. Need them. For running.”    
  
“It’s past ten, and I have a six am call. You thought I might feel the need for a pre-dawn run?” Chris asks, skeptical.    
  
“I don’t know, man. I don’t know your habits! You could totally be a four am runner. I knew this dude in college-” Darren cuts himself off abruptly, once again showing off that newfound ability to tell when he’s veering into ramble territory. “Anyway. You left them in the studio, and I wanted to bring them to you.”    
  
“How did you know they were even mine?” Chris asks. “They’re new.”    
  
“Are you kidding?” Darren laughs. “Uh, the size of these things? I figured you or Cory, and they don’t smell quite rank enough to be his.”    
  
“Thank you. I think.” Chris reaches out one hand, and Darren just stares at it dumbly for a second. “Shoes?”    
  
“Oh!” Darren laughs, handing them over. “Though, wait, now should I be suspicious? Are you just trying to jack Cory’s shoes?”    
  
“He actually wears a size bigger than me,” Chris says. “But if you want proof I can try them on.”    
  
Darren grins and shakes his head. “Nah. Never mind. Here you go.”    
  
Chris turns and opens his trailer door again, dropping the shoes inside. He’s definitely not planning any 4 am runs, so they’ll be fine there until morning. He expects Darren to walk away but when Chris turns back, Darren is still right there.    
  
“So. Headed home?” Darren asks.    
  
“Yeah,” Chris says.    
  
“You eaten?” There’s a hopeful note in his voice. “We could go grab something.”    
  
Chris wants sleep desperately, but... well, he does have to eat, right?    
  
  
  
** The Kissing Thing **   
  
Chris naps.    
  
Chris naps like a  _ninja_ .    
  
When Chris wants to nap, he warns everyone that he’ll be writing and not to interrupt him and then he slides something in front of his trailer door or plays music so people think he’s busy. He sets up his computer by him so he can grab it and pretend to be typing if someone does need him. He’s a light sleeper, so it works - at least until Darren catches on.    
  
Darren tries to make a game out of waking Chris up when he suspects Chris is sleeping and not writing. He sits outside Chris’s trailer singing at the top of his lungs.    
  
The third time he does it, Chris throws the door open. There’s a line between cute and obnoxious, and it’s less forgiving when he’s only had three hours of sleep in the past forty-eight. “What?”    
  
Darren stops singing mid-chorus and frowns at him. “Man, you look exhausted.”    
  
“No shit,” Chris grinds out between clenched teeth.     
  
Anyone else would take the hint, but not Darren. Sure, he gets that it is one - but he’s not taking it. “Well, I just wanted to hang with you. I’ll chill in there while you nap.”   
  
“No, you won’t,” Chris says.    
  
“Yeah, I totally will.” And he brushes past Chris into the trailer, flopping down onto the chair and pulling his phone out of his pocket.    
  
Chris knows for a fact that the chair is pretty uncomfortable. He lays down on the couch and decides he’ll humor Darren until Darren gets bored and leaves, and  _then_ he can sleep.    
  
But then Darren starts to hum and then sing (softly, this time) and Chris is  so tired...    
  
Forty minutes later, he wakes up to a hand gently rocking his shoulder. “Come on, sleeping beauty. Gotta get your hair all Kurt-tastic.”    
  
Chris buries his face in the scratchy couch pillow and whines. He’s not ready. Just a few more hours. Eight or nine will probably do him. “No.”    
  
“Yes,” Darren argues. The couch cushion dips with weight. “Don’t make me resort to drastic measures.”    
  
Chris isn’t entirely sure what those drastic measures could be, and he probably doesn’t want to find out but entirely against his will he drifts off again. He doesn’t entirely hear Darren laugh over him and but he does feel the a faint little hint of pressure and dampness against his cheek. It makes his stomach clench up and his heart pound and he wants to ask  _was that, did you_ but then he opens his eyes and Darren’s gone.    
  
  
** The Kind of a Hairy Beast Thing **   
  
One of the perks of being part of the  _main_ main cast is that Chris can pretty much waltz onto set any time he wants, to watch any thing he wants. He’s done it before - guest stars he wanted to meet but didn’t have scenes with, things he knew had potential for amazing hilarity.    
  
He’s never quite looked forward to utilizing status before quite as much as he is today, though. It’s not even on  set , but he doesn’t care. He makes himself comfortable in one of the makeup chairs not being used, diet coke in one hand and phone prepared with a full battery and tons of empty space on it for pictures and possibly video.    
  
“You are not recording me,” Darren states. He’s been a sulky little brat all morning - of course, an unnaturally good tempered brat, but it’s still obvious he’s not thrilled about this.    
  
“I just want to see you in the shorts,” Chris tells him. “I won’t tweet it.”    
  
“You know you can see me in the shorts anyway. Like, without using your phone. I’m  right here .” Darren puts his hands on his hip, assuming the stance that is adorably sassy five year old.    
  
“What’s that saying? Take a picture, it lasts longer? That’s what I’m doing.” Chris snaps one before picture, just because he can. And - okay, it’s a little less blatant if he turns it into a joke, but he and Darren both know he’s checking Darren out in a way he usually doesn’t allow himself at all. The chest hair that Chris is sort of dying to touch (since every time he’s had excusable opportunity, Darren has been Blaine’d out into smoothness), the happy trail that leads down to..    
  
He clears his throat and shifts a little in his seat. The makeup artist is getting the wax ready and Darren can’t stop glancing at it like it’s his worst enemy. “You sure you have to do the stomach, too? I  mean, Blaine’s like eighteen, I totally had hair when I was-”    
  
“Stomach, too,” she cuts him off. “Ready?”    
  
“Jeez, next thing you know you’ll be going after my balls, too.” Darren grumbles.    
  
“Back, sac, and crack.” She waves the tub of wax menacingly at him, to Darren’s absolute horror.    
  
He sends Chris a pleading look. “Save me?”    
  
“Not a chance.” Chris hits record on his phone.    
  
  
** The Stealing Bread Thing **   
  
Darren invites him out to dinner with a bunch of friends - a couple people from the crew, his roommate, no one Chris doesn’t already know.    
  
He turns down these offers more often than not, but the way Darren seeks him out to ask him - they weren’t even supposed to run into each other today, Darren’s here early and Chris won’t dare let himself think that it might be just to make sure he catches Chris in time.    
  
The hint is enough for him to want to say yes, though, so he does. Darren’s face lights up and he gives Chris a quick hug and says he’ll text him the restaurant later.    
  
The dinner is fun. He sits between the wall and Darren in a big booth packed full, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder. Darren talks with his hands a lot, and after an emphatic gesture lets the right one rest along the booth’s back, behind Chris. His fingers still twitch and fidget as he talks, playing with Chris’s collar and even dropping down to squeeze Chris’s shoulder a couple of times. He does all the obnoxiously endearing Darren things - laughing too loud and too long, cursing without caring who he’s offending at the nearby table, relentlessly pursuing topics of conversation until he’s gotten Chris talking and then sitting back and just  listening . Chris still isn’t sure how Darren does it, but all those things combine coax out Chris’s inner teenager with a crush. By the time the group is on their second bottle of wine he’s surprised he isn’t actually blushing.    
  
Then the food gets there, and it’s good. Darren says he loves this place, says he’s tried almost everything by now, but he still reaches over and snags some of Chris’s pasta with his fork without even asking. He’s not even looking at Chris, still deep in conversation with someone else. “Oh, that’s good,” he breaks off from what he’d been talking about to turn to Chris and say.    
  
Chris catches Joey giving him a look, eyebrow raised and feels compelled to say, “You have your own food.”    
  
Darren pouts, the other conversation forgotten. “I know. And it’s great. But so is yours.”    
  
“But you can’t have it.” Chris picks up his fork, like he’s prepared to defend his meal. Mostly he wants Darren to know he’s just joking and he doesn’t really care.    
  
It leads to a fork fight that gets the rest of the table howling and the waitress and hostess glaring at them. Chris finally calls a truce, and pretends that he doesn’t see Darren constantly sneaking bites even though every time their eyes meet and they both grin.    
  
  
  
** The Frog Thing **   
  
“You gotta write me in, Chris, come on,” Darren whines. “What’s the point in having a best selling author as a friend if you won’t write me into your book? I want to be  _immortalized_ .”    
  
“You’re already immortalized on television and soon to be film,” Chris points out. “Plus, let’s not forget the internet. The internet will never die, and it will immortalize you in every way you never want realized.”    
  
“Not the same as in print.” Darren shakes his head. “Not the same at all. I can’t hold a television show in my hands and stare fondly down at it.”    
  
“Uh, DVDS?”    
  
“Shut up. And write me into the sequel.” Darren wiggles in closer to Chris on the couch they’re sharing, resting his head on Chris’s shoulder and staring up at him with big pleading eyes. “Even just a tiny part. Like a cameo. I want a cameo. I won’t even ask for royalties.”    
  
“Idiot.” Chris rolls his eyes.    
  
“But an idiot you’ll write into your book?”    
  
Chris debates heavily before admitting, knowing that this will only spur Darren on harder once he confesses. But the internet already suspects, and he’s pretty sure half of his friends that have read it do, too, so he finally says: “I already did.” 


End file.
